AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I cut through the tense silence with a quiet reminder: “We aren’t allowed outside.”
“Look, things are desperate enough thatI’lldo it. I don’t care. I can’t even feel my wrists when I touch them anymore.”
“She belted me for asking,” Danny reveals quietly.
“Fuck, D-boy, I’m sorry.” Rory sounds achingly guilty. When I glance back at him, he’s looking down as if the weight of his apology is too heavy to bear. “I thought she’d at least letyouoff the hook. She must be cold-hearted if those big Bambi browns didn’t melt her.”
With my face to the wall, I sense rather than see Danny’s stunned reaction. It’s fun, listening to Rory flirt with Danny, even in the most dire circumstances. I hide the twitch of my lips as I pretend to examine a bunch of tattered periodicals.
“It may have been worth it for that comment alone,” Danny mutters, voice scratchy.
“You up for wreaking more havoc?” Rory murmurs, mischief glinting in his gray eyes. With a half-cocked grin, he pulls out his phone. “I’m going to break into Hodgson’s class. Get some initial footage without anyone there. You up for it?”
With silent nods, we disperse from our lunchtime gathering in the library, each of us exiting one by one. Ten minutes later, we regroup outside Hodgson’s classroom, our anticipation palpable as we scan the empty hallways for any sign of approaching footsteps. Danny crouches down to diligently pick the lock while Rory and I play the part of casual passersby, pretending not to be with each other and acting like we’re heading elsewhere — to another class, to the library, to our rooms. The lock finally yields with a triumphant click, and in a burst of excitement, all three of us rush into the classroom together.
Rory whips out his phone, hitting the record button to capture our surroundings. Wordlessly, he nods toward Danny, signaling him to head outside and keep watch. Danny obeys.
The classroom appears wilder than ever, as if Hodgson has been gleefully indulging himself, adding to his collection with each passing class. Antiro knick-knacks fill the room: black and red mugs, golf balls, hats, and scarves. The stationary cupboard spills its contents onto the back of the room, showcasing a new array of Antiro-branded pencils, pens, rulers, and sharpeners. The red letterAfollows me everywhere, even on graph paper. The massive red and black flag still dominates the right wall, while Benji’s face, looking especially cherubic beneath a flashy crown, remains garlanded with fresh flowers.
Rory records it all in bemused fascination, his phone roving across each blatant act of Antiro ass-kissing. Hodgson may be an even bigger fan of Antiro than Arabella. He certainly seems to have splurged the most on their merchandise.
Eventually, Rory shoots me a thumbs up to say he’s got all the footage he needs, and slips his phone back into his blazer pocket. I take the moment to admire him, and myself, and what we’re trying to do together — this is genuine whistleblowing and it thrills me to my core.
In the darkest corner of the room, Rory catches me staring. He shoots me a puzzled smile. “What?”
“Just… in this mad world, I’m so glad I have you.”
His expression softens and he signals me to step closer. I do so, and he frames my face with his hands. His lips capture mine, a deep claim that shoots arrows of pleasure down to my toes. We stay there for a few long moments, his mouth moving leisurely against mine, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on either side of my face. He doesn’t let go, even after he breaks away with a warm sigh. The world calms. We share each other’s breath for a delicious, peaceful moment.
“It’s me who should be glad,” Rory whispers against my lips as he brushes a curl of hair around my ear, “though I can’t say you make me, or my world, any less mad. You’ve turned and twisted me around.”
“Slutty voodoo,” I murmur mockingly against his lips, but Rory only frowns.
“No, little saint. More than that, much more.” He presses a slick, wicked kiss to my parted lips and whispers in a voice as emphatic as thunderstorms, “We were inevitable.” Our fingers crisscross like plaid. Knuckles bump together, fingers curling and clinging like hooks, as if we’d scarcely survive if alone and separate. The tip of Rory’s nose runs along mine as we seek each other out, falling into this moment of stillness as the world whips chaos around us.
“We’ll win,” I say — half query, half belief. “In the end. Right? We’ve got to.”
Rory says nothing, but his fingers tighten around mine and he presses kisses to my closed eyelids. “If I forget everything else, some of us have already won.” A sudden warning kick to the door sends me jolting inside Rory’s arms. My heart pounds in my throat and Rory heaves a jaded sigh. “But then I’m not allowed to forget everything else.” He squeezes my hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
Like it’s no big deal, Rory casually sets up his phone on his desk, using his textbook as a stand. No one appears to notice what he’s up to, least of all Professor Hodgson, who ambles into the classroom swinging his briefcase and singing the Antiro anthem under his breath as though it were an innocent little ditty.
Meanwhile, I can’t stop glancing at Arabella. Does she know about her rise to infamy? She isn’t acting any differently, arranging her pencils in order of hardness and flipping back over her previous set of notes. How many people in this castle are aware she’s the unexpected dove of peace, uniting both sides of the monarchism debate by being a goldmine of mockery? Baxter must, surely. And we once caught Dr. Moncrieff listening to the radio — so does he know? Has he chosen not to warn Arabella?
ShouldIwarn her?
No. Screw that. I keep my head down and say nothing.
Hodgson, for what it’s worth, fills Rory’s phone with clip after clip of nonsense. He uses numbers on the board that align with significant dates in Antiro’s seemingly endless calendar of notable events, and worst of all he proudly informs us of this. Our understanding of geometric sequences is enhanced through examples that use Benji’s birthday, the inception of Antiro, and the revival of the movement under Benji’s leadership… On and on Hodgson goes, a blundering, blinkered, down-with-the-kids fool, while Rory sits back and happily lets his phone memory fill, not once stopping the recording.
I’m relieved to finish class for the day. I’m relieved not to be around Arabella any longer, either.
Our late-night space in politics class is still, for the moment, ours. We file in, breathing in the soothing air of chalk dust and mahogany. The first thing I do is inspect Danny’s smacked wrist, now a dark peach color, and run my thumbs over his delicate blue veins.
“Maybe she knew about the library video,” I murmur, fingertips tracing the discoloration, “and it’s why she took it out on you.”
Rory, meanwhile, intently folds a paper airplane out of The Independent. “Everyone here’s going to know soon enough. So she better get used to her niece being considered a laughing stock.”
